ALLISON BRENNAN
Notorious
M I N O TA U R B O O K S
N E W YO R K
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Some people say that it takes a village; for me, it takes a family. My kids, Katie, Kelly, Luke, Mary, and Mark; my mom, Claudia; and my husband, Dan. I love you.
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Prologue
Hester has returned. Lindy Ames double-underlined the sentence, the ballpoint pen leaving a deep gouge in the paper. She slammed the diary shut and slid it back onto the bookshelf, the spine blending in with all the other books that no one would read. Decoration. Stately books in a handsome room. It had been luck—or maybe some cruel god rubbing her face in her own failings—that she’d seen the slut at the clinic and put two and two together. The timing was right. Why should Lindy be upset? It wasn’t like she and William had an exclusive relationship—they were both sneaking around behind the backs of their friends and significant others. But sitting down, talking to the girl, finding out the truth . . . it was eye-opening. Lindy saw her future and it sucked. She was just as bad as William. Worse, there was no one she could talk to about it because they’d agreed to keep their relationship secret. Friends with benefits, she’d told him. Lindy ran up to her bedroom; her bed still smelled of sex even though William had left fifteen minutes ago. Why had she even slept with him? Because you wanted to. Their fight had been the worst yet, but at the same time she finally felt free. She didn’t want to be his girlfriend. She never had. She’d wanted William because others coveted him—he was gorgeous and smart and
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richly arrogant. And he was a Revere—who wouldn’t want to marry into that family? But she’d lost so much playing this game with him, and after Kevin broke up with her, she realized that she needed to get her life in order before she left for college, or she’d continue to make the same, stupid mistakes. William didn’t understand—for the first time, he said, they were both free, they could go public with their relationship. But all the secrets and lies and sneaking around for the last year had caught up with her. She couldn’t even pretend with him anymore, not even for the summer. Determined to forget William, she gathered up her sheets and put them in the washing machine. “There.” The low hum of the washer reminded Lindy that she was alone. The mansion was empty—her mother had joined her dad on his business trip to New York. She considered calling Kevin, but he wasn’t talking to her. Their breakup had been bad, and when she tried to talk to him yesterday, they’d argued all over again. She couldn’t blame him. He’d found out she was sleeping with another guy and wanted to know who; she hadn’t told him. How could she? They were all friends. If Kevin found out she’d screwed William a half-dozen times while she purported to be Kevin’s girlfriend, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut. And then everyone would be mad at her. She thought of calling Maxine, but even her best friend had been acting aloof. Or was Max just preoccupied with preparing for college? Or so wrapped up in her own boyfriend problems that she didn’t have time anymore? Or maybe—maybe it was Lindy’s fault. Max had this uncanny way of knowing when Lindy was lying. Lindy missed her best friend. Max was blunt and smart and didn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit. And Lindy had screwed up their friendship, just like everything else. It was time to break away, she told herself. Clean slate. She was going to college in three months, she’d put William and Kevin and even Max behind her. If her best friend was going to be so damn judgmental, she didn’t need her. Lindy left the house and walked across the lawn to her clubhouse, 2
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built into a grove of trees in the back corner of her property. As soon as she entered, she felt at peace. More than a mere clubhouse, it was a three-story guesthouse with a full kitchen and pool table (from when her brother was still at home) and television and huge collection of movies. It might seem odd to forsake a nine-thousand-square-foot mansion for a thousand-square-foot bungalow, but it had been her sanctuary ever since she was little. They’d had a club, she and Caitlin and Olivia primarily, and others through the years, and when Max moved to Atherton, she hung out with them, too. They had sleepovers and parties and on occasion got drunk or stoned. And more recently, since Kevin left and all the weirdness with William, it had become Lindy’s private haven, where she could disappear. Sometimes, she wished she could get away from herself. To be someone else. Sometimes, she wondered what would happen if she just came clean with everyone, spilled all the secrets she knew, and let the shit fly. It might be fun. But it would hurt everyone she cared about. Which is why she didn’t tell William the real reason she was calling it off. He’d find out soon enough, anyway. Lindy opened her clubhouse refrigerator and took out a beer. If her parents knew she kept a stock of drinks in here, they’d never said anything. Probably thought it was better for her to drink at home than risk driving drunk to parties all over town. She sensed the door opening more than she heard it. She turned around and stared at her visitor, surprised. The last thing she needed was more drama in her life. “Go away.” She turned her back to the door, determined to postpone any conformation. “I’m not in the mood for you to bitch at me again.” The door closed and she heard a cry. Not like someone was hurt, but like someone was in pain. A guttural cry, like a trapped animal. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Get rid of all her baggage, once and for all. Something isn’t right. Heart racing, she started to spin around again, instinctively bring-
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ing her arms up, though she wondered why on earth she’d have to defend herself. A sharp pain on the back of her head brought Lindy to her knees before she could face her attacker. “Wh-what are—you—” She felt sick, like she was going to puke, and strugged to get up onto all fours. Her vision blurred, and for one brief second she thought it had been an accident. Then hands grabbed her neck from behind and pushed her down. Her attacker sat on her back, held her down, and squeezed her neck. She tried to talk, tried to scream, but she couldn’t draw in any air. Her arms flailed, trying to hit the person behind her, but she had no control over her limbs. She couldn’t breathe. Stop! But she couldn’t speak, the scream was trapped in her lungs. Why are you hurting me? I’ve known you forever . . . Her vision went from blurry to black to nothing.
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Chapter One
Going home was a bitch. Maxine Revere had flirted with the idea of flying in solely for Kevin’s funeral so her perfect and dysfunctional family wouldn’t hear about her visit until she was already on a plane back to New York City. Three things stopped her. Foremost, Max did not run away from uncomfortable situations. She recognized that she wasn’t the same nineteen-year-old who’d defied her family. She’d also get a kick from walking into the family mansion unannounced and watching a reboot of Dallas, set in California. The SterlingRevere family could take on the Ewings and win without breaking a nail or going to jail. Being the blackest sheep in the herd was more fun than taking two cross-country flights in one day. But the primary reason she was staying for the weekend was for Kevin’s sister, Jodi O’Neal. Kevin had been Max’s former best friend and confidante. He’d killed himself and Jodi had questions. She had no answers for the college coed, but she understood why Jodi sought truth where there had only been lies. Max had survived grief, she’d been a close acquaintance to death, and maybe she could give Jodi a modicum of peace. Traveling first class had advantages, including prompt disembarking. Max strode off the plane at San Francisco International Airport, her long legs putting distance between her and the other passengers. Her two-inch heels made her an even six feet, but her confident stride
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and stunning looks caused heads to turn. She ignored the attention. Her cell phone vibrated and she ignored that, too. Her full-time assistant and as-needed bodyguard, former Army Ranger David Kane, easily kept up with her. He turned heads as well, mostly from fear. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he’d kill you with no remorse or pleasure. He didn’t smile often. But as Max had learned, looks were a form of lying. David’s steel core protected him as much as her pursuit of truth protected Max. “I don’t need you,” she told him. “We settled this yesterday, or were you placating me?” “All I suggested was that I drive you to Atherton before I head to Marin.” “It’s foolish for you to drive an hour out of your way. I’m not incapable of driving myself.” She ignored David’s subtle smirk. “And I need a car. This isn’t New York where I can walk everywhere or grab a taxi. Go. Emma is waiting.” “If you’re sure.” She glared at him. “She’s your daughter.” “She comes with her mother.” “I’m not the one who screwed Brittney in a failed attempt to prove I wasn’t gay,” Max said, “and I will not let you use me as an excuse to avoid the selfish bitch.” Tough love. David adored his twelve-year-old daughter, but her mother made their relationship difficult. Brittney wouldn’t let David spend a minute more with Emma than the court mandated, and the flight delay had already cost him two hours. They wove through the crowd at baggage claim without slowing down, and stopped at the carousel where their luggage would be delivered. “Emma wants to see you,” David said. “The funeral is tomorrow. You’ll be on a plane to Hawaii Sunday morning. Enjoy your vacation—when you get back, if I’m still here, we can meet up in the city for lunch and I’ll take Emma shopping.” David grunted. “She doesn’t need more clothes.” “A girl can never have too many shoes.” Max doubted she’d have
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kids of her own, and she enjoyed playing aunt to David’s daughter when Emma visited him in New York. Max parked herself near the carousel opening because she didn’t want to be here any longer than she had to. Airports were part of her life, but she grew tired of the waiting part. Before leaving Miami, she’d shipped one of her suitcases back home to New York; and the second, smaller bag of essentials she’d brought with her to California. She didn’t plan to stay in town long. “Ms. Revere?” an elderly voice behind her asked. Max turned and looked down at an older couple. The man, at least eighty and maybe five foot four in lifts, stood with his wife, who barely topped five feet. They both had white hair and blue eyes and would have looked like cherubs if their faces weren’t so deeply wrinkled. Max smiled politely. “Yes, I’m Maxine Revere.” She expected them to ask for autographs or question what investigation brought her to California. The true crime show she hosted every month on cable television had been moving up in the ratings. When she only wrote newspaper articles and books, few people outside of the business knew what she looked like. Now that she was on camera, people approached her regularly. There were pros and cons to being recognized. She was on a tight time schedule today, but the couple looked sweet. “I told you, Henry,” the woman said to her husband. “I’m Penny Hoffman.” Mrs. Hoffman extended her hand nervously. It was cold, dry, and fragile, like the woman in front of her. “This is my husband, Henry. I knew it was you.” She gripped her purse tightly with both hands, the straps worn and frayed. “Do you believe in divine providence?” Touchy subject. Max answered, “Sometimes.” David was standing to the side, watching the situation. He was always on alert, even when it was wholly unnecessary. Ever since the incident in Chicago last year when Max had been attacked in a parking garage by someone who hadn’t wanted to hear the truth on her show, David was suspicious of everyone. Even little old ladies.
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“We just flew in from Phoenix,” Henry said. “For our granddaughter’s wedding,” Penny added. “Last year, we were here for a funeral.” “My condolences,” Max said. Penny blinked back a sheen of tears and smiled awkwardly. “Our other grandchild. Jessica’s brother, Jason.” “Penny,” Henry said, taking his wife’s hand, “Ms. Revere doesn’t want to hear about this now.” Penny continued. “The police say they have no leads.” The way she said no leads had Max’s instincts twitching. The police may have no leads they shared with the family, but there was always a lead—and it was obvious by her tone that Penny had her own theories. In Max’s experience, murder was almost always personal. There were stranger murders and serial killers, but they were few and far between. Most victims were killed by those they trusted most. A friend. A spouse. A parent. A child. David cleared his throat. He grabbed Max’s red case from the conveyor belt. He’d already retrieved his smaller khaki bag. He wouldn’t have checked it at all, except he’d packed a gun. “They need to go,” Henry told Penny. “It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Revere. Very nice. You’re even prettier in person.” “Thank you,” Max said. “If you’d like to write me a letter about your grandson’s case, here’s my office address and e-mail.” She pulled a card from her pocket. She received hundreds of letters and e-mails a week from families wanting her to do any number of things, from proving a loved one innocent to a killer guilty. Most dealt with cold cases and contained few leads. She didn’t have time to investigate all the unsolved murders she heard about, and she couldn’t always solve the ones she investigated. But she always gave the families whatever truth she found. For better or worse. She took a pen out of her pocket and wrote on the back. “Here’s my personal e-mail.” Henry took the card but Penny looked upset. “I have written. Twice.” By the sound of her voice, she hadn’t received a response. A sliver of 8
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anger ran up Max’s spine. Her newest assistant was going to have some explaining to do if she wanted to keep her job. All e-mails and letters must be responded to within a week. Max had drafted four form letters that fit most situations, and what didn’t fit she was supposed to review. Henry said, “We thought you might be interested in the case since Jason was killed at Atherton Prep.” Max was speechless—a rarity. She’d graduated from Atherton College Prep thirteen years ago, but no one told her about this murder. The second in the history of the campus. “When?” she managed to ask. “The Saturday after Thanksgiving.” Nearly five months ago. “I’ll be in town all weekend,” Max said. “I’d like to hear your story. I can’t promise I’ll investigate, but I will listen.” They both smiled and tears moistened Penny’s eyes. Max didn’t want to see tears. Especially genuine tears, like Penny’s. “Thank you. We’ll be here for two weeks. You don’t know what this means to us.” Max had Kevin’s funeral tomorrow, she was meeting with Jodi in an hour—she was going to be late—and then there was her own family she had to deal with. That she could put off. “Where are you staying?” “The Embassy Suites in Redwood Shores,” Henry said. “Our son said we could stay with them, but they have so many last-minute things to do for the wedding, we didn’t want to be a bother.” Max smiled. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have been any trouble. I can meet you at your hotel tomorrow morning. Is eight too early?” Penny said, “We always rise at dawn.” David was giving Max his version of the evil eye. For him, it was a sterner frown than he normally wore. Max attached her laptop case to the top of her suitcase and said good-bye to the Hoffmans. She and David stepped out of the terminal and into the spring morning, a cold wind rolling off the Bay that made her shiver. It had been seventy degrees and clear when she left Miami Airport at 6:00 a.m.
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They walked down the wide sidewalk toward the rental car shuttle stop. “Why?” David said. She didn’t answer his question. “Call Ginger. Tell her to find the letters the Hoffmans mentioned and get them to me, verbatim, before she leaves the office today. I want to know why I didn’t see them in the first place.” “Maybe she thought you had enough on your plate. Or maybe she didn’t see them at all. They could have come in when Ashley was still in the office. Or Josh.” Max didn’t want to think about Ashley. What a train wreck. And Josh? Every time she thought about him, she wished she could fire him all over again. Max didn’t have a great track record with office managers. David had been with her for eighteen months—in that time, she’d gone through six office managers. So far, Ginger had been with her for three months. Two more weeks and she’d win the prize for longest assistant. They stopped under the shuttle sign. David handed Max his cell phone. “It’s Marco.” “He’s calling you, not me.” “Because you haven’t been answering your phone. This is the third time he’s called me.” Max didn’t take the phone, so David answered. Max tried to ignore the conversation as she looked for any sign that the shuttle was near. It was nowhere in sight. “She’s right here,” David said. “No, she didn’t lose her phone.” Max swore under her breath and took David’s phone from his hand. “I didn’t answer my phone because I didn’t want to talk to you.” “You have to talk to me sometime, sweetheart.” FBI Special Agent Marco Lopez spoke low and clear, working double-time to control his Cuban temper. “Not today.” “You intentionally left before I saw the news.” “I told you yesterday I had a funeral in California.”
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“You didn’t tell me that you filed your article, and you had plenty of time to record a three-minute spot for the local news. You exposed my informant and jeopardized my case!” His voice rose in volume as he spoke. Max had a lot of experience remaining calm while talking to Marco. “Your informant put one of his hookers in the hospital for a week and thwarted the investigation into Candace Arunda’s murder.” “He was my only link to the Garbena cartel!” Though Marco was born and raised in Miami, his parents had both come from Cuba, and when he got angry and spoke fast, he adopted a hybrid Americanized Cuban accent. “I’m not rehashing this with you,” she said. “I told you why I was in Miami when you asked last week.” “You should have warned me.” “Last time I gave you an early copy of an article, your boss attempted to have it scuttled.” “That was nine years ago!” “Fool me once,” she said. “Dammit, Max! You avoided me because you know you overstepped this time.” She pictured Marco pacing his office, his free hand opening and closing. “Overstepped?” Max took a deep breath. Marco, more than anyone, could raise her blood pressure. “Is that what you call exposing the truth about the brutal murder of an underage prostitute? Is an ‘in’ with the cartel more important than justice for a seventeen-year-old girl?” “Don’t twist what I said! You know I care. You should have given me twenty-four hours to clean up this mess. Ramirez would have been in prison either way.” “Your team screwed up, another girl was in jeopardy, and I’m supposed to give you time to fi x it because we’re having sex? Garbena is costing you your soul, Marco.” David cleared his throat. Maxine didn’t care about attracting an audience as much as her assistant, but she stepped farther away from the other travelers waiting for the shuttle.
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“You’re the most frustrating woman I’ve ever known!” “I’ve never lied to you, Marco. I wish you could say the same to me.” She hung up and returned David’s phone. Her stomach was twisted in knots. She wished she could have left things differently with Marco. “You should have told him before you left,” David said. “He knew why I was in Miami, and he lied to me.” “He couldn’t tell you—” Max rarely interrupted, but she didn’t let David finish. “He lied. He didn’t say, ‘Max, I can’t talk to you about this case,’ which he’s done in the past and I accept. This time, he deliberately gave me false information to protect his criminal informant, and then he expected me to put it in print. You know as well as I do that Marco and his team want the big fish, and if innocent guppies get eaten in the process, it’s collateral damage.” “You still should have told him. He shouldn’t have read it in the morning paper.” He glanced at her, understanding narrowing his eyes. “You intentionally sabotaged your relationship. Why?” She didn’t answer right away because the shuttle pulled up. There were five of them, and Max sat in the back row of the twelve-passenger van. David sat next to her. Maybe because of David’s appearance, or her previous phone conversation, the other passengers crammed into the front. David was perceptive. She may not have consciously wanted to end her mostly off relationship with Special Agent Marco Lopez, but it was primarily physical. They had a long history. But she couldn’t allow her libido to control her career. She never had in the past, and just because she had feelings for Marco didn’t mean she’d allow it to happen now. “In the nine years I’ve known Marco I’ve never lied to him,” Max said after the van started moving. “I’ve never told him I was someone I’m not. He thinks he can change me, and every time I see him we screw like rabbits and he tries to get me to bury my story. When I don’t, he accuses me of not caring who I hurt. I’m tired of explaining myself to him, and I’m not going to change just to please him.” “I give you six months.” 12
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“For what?” “To find a story to cover in Miami so you have an excuse to go back.” Max laughed, a deep throaty genuine laugh. “That’s why I love you, David. You remind me that I am flawed.” He smiled, which made the two-inch jagged scar across his left temple almost charming. “It’s the least I can do.” The shuttle van pulled up in front of the rental car kiosks. David had previously taken care of the arrangements and handed her the paperwork. While the other passengers disembarked, Max said, “Marco needs to find a sweet Cuban girl who likes his macho bullshit and does what he says when he says it. I’m done.” She thought saying it out loud would make her feel better, but all it did was remind her how rigid she could be. No matter how much she cared about someone, she couldn’t—she wouldn’t—compromise her core values for them. She had no doubt Marco felt the same way, which left them at an impasse. A dark sense of melancholy overcame her. It was, truly, over.
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Chapter Two
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Not much had changed in the small, wealthy town of Atherton since Max’s mother left her to live with her grandparents twenty-one years ago. The same beautiful landscape hid the same dark secrets. Lies streamed from subdued mansions set back from the meandering, treelined streets. There were few nouveau riche monstrosities because the town council wouldn’t stand for it, but the few that existed were beacons to longtime residents, signaling the crassness of money in the wrong hands. The truly wealthy, those with old money and old secrets, didn’t flaunt their riches. They often lived frugally, within strict though ample budgets, spending primarily to grow their wealth. They kept their ostentatious afflictions hidden behind closed doors. Max quickly drove through Atherton, surprised at conflicting feelings of nostalgia and regret. Even though she’d been nine when she moved here, Atherton was the only place she truly considered home. Yet she’d never live here again. She’d deal with her past later. The travel delays put Max behind schedule, so she hurried through Atherton to the adjoining city of Menlo Park. Kevin’s sister Jodi worked part time at an independent bookstore. Max had spent many hours in Kepler’s as a teenager, a reprieve from her family. As a young adult, Max never considered that one day she would write a book that graced the shelves of her favorite bookstore. She’d planned on being a travel writer, photographing hidden treasures around the globe, writing stories about interesting cul14
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tures and people and events. Interviewing locals and tourists to find out what made each destination so special. Searching, perhaps, for a place she wanted to adopt because her current home never fit the meaning behind the label. But life has plans, her mother told her three months before she walked out on Max. As if life itself was capable of independent thought. Life has plans, Maxine. Sometimes they’re not what we want, but we don’t always have control. Max never believed her mother until her best friend disappeared during their last spring break of college and Max spent a year of her life searching for answers. Though she consciously made the decision to change her career path, she wondered if her vivacious, irresponsible mother was wiser than she’d given her credit for. Max entered the bookstore and breathed in the wonderful aroma of new books. Though she had an e-reader, she used it primarily when traveling. Her Manhattan apartment was filled with books she’d be hard-pressed to part with. She passed a display of books written by local authors, amused to find her own four true crime titles displayed in the middle row. But even more bemusing were the stacks of an investment book that filled the top row—written by Andrew S. Talbot, IV. Andy certainly didn’t need to write a book to supplement his wealth, but he knew more about money and investing than anyone she knew. Considering her grandfather had owned a bank and her uncle had founded one of the top dot-com companies and sold it at the height of the dot-com boom, she knew many smart money people. She picked up the book and read the inside cover. “Max?” She looked up and saw Jodi O’Neal, Kevin’s sister. She only recognized her from a photo on the Internet; the last time she’d seen Jodi, the girl had been six. Now she was nineteen—the same age Max had been when she left Atherton. What Max hadn’t seen in the photo was that Jodi had Kevin’s big brown eyes, the kind of eyes that shout honesty. “Hello, Jodi. I’m sorry I’m late. My flight was delayed.”
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Tears brimmed in Jodi’s eyes. The girl took Max’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you so much. I wasn’t positive you would come, I know you and Kevin had problems.” “I haven’t spoken to Kevin in twelve years. I came because you asked.” Jodi bit her lip. “I waited to take my break until you got here. Do you have time for the café? Coffee?” “I have as much time as you need.” They walked next door and took a table outside. Atherton was thirty minutes south of San Francisco, and it was always warmer here than in the city. Max took off her blazer and hung it over the back of her chair. A well-established oak tree in the middle of the courtyard provided filtered light on their table. It looked exactly the same the last time Max had been here, when her cousin Thea married Duncan Talbot the second, Andy’s cousin, two years ago. She’d flown in the day before the wedding, and was on a plane back to New York the morning after. Jodi chatted aimlessly about working at the bookstore while going to college at the California College of the Arts. She took the train to the city three days a week for classes. Max hadn’t come home just because Jodi asked. It was the way she’d asked her. As much what she’d said as what she didn’t say. She’d said she didn’t believe that Kevin committed suicide, but she didn’t tell Max why she didn’t believe the police report. After the waitress brought them coffee and pastries, Max said, “I read everything you sent me. There’s nothing in the newspaper or initial police report that indicated that Kevin was murdered.” Jodi cringed at the word, or maybe it was Max’s blunt statement. She needed a lighter touch. She’d just come off an investigation where being direct was expected and, in fact, necessary to find answers. Jodi was a survivor, one of the walking wounded in a family that was facing the unexpected death of a loved one. Jodi said, “I know what Kevin’s death looks like, I know what everyone thinks. But I swear, Maxine, he was finally getting his life together.
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He hasn’t used in years. I mean, he might have drank a bit, but he wasn’t using drugs.” The files hadn’t indicated anything of the sort. Kevin was a heavy drinker and had been arrested three times on drug possession. Marijuana twice, heroin once. He’d done six months in prison for the last bust. During the death investigation, two ounces of marijuana had been found in his apartment, along with empty whiskey and beer bottles. The only constant in his life seemed to have been a part-time job in a coffee place. Enough to pay his rent, buy his alcohol, and not much more. Max didn’t tell Jodi any of this, because Jodi must have known the life Kevin lived. She watched the girl twist her long brown hair into knots. Max had many questions, but she didn’t want to lead Jodi down a specific path. When it was clear Jodi was too ner vous to talk without prompting, Max asked, “Why did you ask me to come to Kevin’s funeral?” “You were friends.” Her voice was quiet and squeaky. Max leaned back and pulled a bite-size piece off her carrot cake. She gauged Jodi’s state of mind. “I haven’t spoken to Kevin since I left twelve years ago. If he told you something different, he wasn’t telling you the truth.” Jodi swallowed and leaned forward. “Ever since I can remember, Kevin has been trying to find out what happened the night Lindy Ames was killed.” Four months ago, right before Christmas, Kevin had left a message asking her, in her capacity as an investigative journalist, to follow a lead he had on Lindy’s murder. A murder that occurred when they were high school seniors, a murder for which he’d been arrested, stood trial for, and walked away a man in limbo: the hung jury split evenly, six to acquit, six to convict. Worse, she’d been friends with both Kevin and Lindy; in fact, growing up, she and Lindy had been inseparable. Only during their senior year had they drifted apart, and Max was unclear why that had happened. Lindy had become moody and secretive. Lindy, of all people,
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knew how Max hated deception, so when Max caught her in a series of little white lies, Max had overreacted. Max could forgive it now, but then her best friend’s dishonesty—especially about such trivial things like where she was going—had hurt and offended her. Would anything have been different had Max been more tolerant of Lindy’s behavior? She’d asked David to call Kevin back and say she wasn’t interested in hearing from him. David wouldn’t have been swayed by Kevin’s pleas as she might have been. A twinge of guilt crept in. When she heard his message, the time slipped away and she was the nineteen-year-old friend of a boy on trial for murder who’d lied to her to ensure her loyalty. Had she said no to his olive branch out of spite? As payback for making her feel gullible? “Did you know Kevin called me before Christmas asking for my help in Lindy’s cold case?” Jodi nodded. “He said he understood why you didn’t want to, but—” She bit her thumb. “What happened after the trial? Why did you stand by Kevin, then turn your back on him?” “Do you really want to know?” Max wasn’t sure she wanted to say anything, because after twelve years her reasons for walking away seemed petty. But she’d never forget how she felt when Kevin told her he’d lied about his alibi. It was as if she’d been gutted—not because she thought he was guilty, but because he’d been able to lie so smoothly and she hadn’t known. Jodi straightened her spine. “Yes.” “Kevin lied about his alibi.” “I don’t understand. He had no alibi—he said he was home. The prosecutor said he could have easily snuck out of the house.” “He did sneak out of the house.” She looked stricken. “You—you think he’s guilty.” “No. But, he made me doubt him because I didn’t understand then why he lied, and I understand less now.” She sipped her coffee to calm her nerves, because remembering how inadequate and helpless she’d felt back then made her queasy. “After the trial, Kevin told me that he wasn’t home, that he was with Olivia Langstrom.” 18
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Jodi looked perplexed. “Why didn’t he tell the police that?” she asked. “I asked him the same thing. He didn’t think he’d be arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. And then, when he was, he said they couldn’t have evidence against him because he was innocent. And yet, the circumstantial evidence was enough for six of the jurors to think he was guilty.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” “No, it doesn’t. According to Kevin, Olivia was physically and emotionally abused by her father. She was going through a hard time, and thinking of running away, but Kevin thought she was going to hurt herself. They talked half the night at Fake Lake and he took her home between three and four in the morning.” The man-made lake had been a favorite party spot for Atherton teens. “She could have told the judge that. Or the police or someone!” “She could have—she should have—but she didn’t, and Kevin thought if he changed his story after the arrest no one would believe him. And he’d promised Olivia he wouldn’t say anything. She was afraid of repercussions.” “So he went through hell to protect her reputation?” Jodi was having the same questions and doubts that Max did. “You wanted to know what happened. That’s what happened. I didn’t trust him anymore. I didn’t understand why he lied in the first place, or why he felt the need to tell me about Olivia after trial. I felt manipulated and used because I’d defended him. I defied my family and lost friends because I stood by Kevin. And the lies he told seemed so . . .” How could she put it? It still didn’t make sense to her. “So unnecessary. I didn’t want anything more to do with him. He could have saved himself—and me—and you and your parents so much pain if he’d told the truth from the beginning. And that’s what I had a hard time coming to terms with.” Jodi didn’t say anything for several minutes. She stared into her coffee cup and Max gave her the time to process the new information. Unless he was retried, Kevin hadn’t planned to tell anyone. Except it was important. Had he told the truth from the beginning,
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the police could have followed other leads. They might have found out who really killed Lindy, and brought him to justice. And that, frankly, was what Max couldn’t forgive. And because Kevin had told her about Olivia, it made her feel culpable. And though Kevin told her never to tell anyone, she’d gone to the police. At least, she tried to. The detective in charge of the investigation nearly threw her out of the police department and threatened to arrest her for giving a false statement. If that happened now, after all the cold cases and hot trials she’d worked on as a reporter, she would never have left without finding the truth. Now she feared the truth was unattainable. And Lindy would never see justice done. Finally, she asked Jodi, “Did Kevin share any information or theories about Lindy’s murder?” Jodi shook her head. “Nothing specific. He didn’t want to talk to me about it. My parents—they had a real hard time during the trial. We moved to Los Gatos, but they were never the same. Kevin moved to San Francisco. I barely saw him while I was growing up. We just reconnected a few years ago.” It pained Max how cruel families could be. Not only had Kevin lost friends, he’d been disowned by his family. “Though he wouldn’t talk to me much about what he was doing,” Jodi continued, “I know he was researching a lot.” “What kind of research?” “I don’t really know. He had a lot of legal documents, but he put them away whenever I came over.” “Where’s his research now?” “I went to his apartment on Wednesday, once the police said I could go in, but his laptop was gone. It was the only thing he cared about, he didn’t even own a TV. He had a file cabinet but—I didn’t look in there.” “Did you get a copy of the final police report?” She shook her head. “I haven’t seen it.” Max suspected she wouldn’t look at it. Jodi was a young, grieving sister and the police report would be a bright and impartial light on Kevin’s last days. She didn’t need to see it. But Max did. 20
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“Where was Kevin living?” Atherton was a small town in the middle of a major metropolitan area. She could be dealing with any number of police departments. “An apartment on Roble Avenue.” Roble was nearby, in Menlo Park. “On Wednesday,” Jodi continued, “before I called you, I got this in the mail.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter, then hesitated. Though Max was curious about what had prompted Jodi to call her, she didn’t reach for the document. She waited and sipped her latte. Jodi bit her lip, a ner vous habit that was beginning to annoy Max. If it was anyone else, she would have immediately branded them as deceptive or hiding something. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Max was right in picking out lies and diversions. But coupled with Jodi’s overall demeanor and the tragic circumstances, Max suspected Jodi was simply confused and didn’t know what to do with information she had. Jodi said, “I need to know that you believe Kevin didn’t kill Lindy Ames.” How could Max answer that when she didn’t know what she believed? She said, “When Kevin was arrested, I stood by him. I never believed then that he killed Lindy, because he told me he didn’t. He was my best friend. I postponed college for a year so I could stay here and support him during the investigation and trial. “But after the jury came back undecided and the prosecution said that they wouldn’t retry unless new evidence surfaced, and I learned that Kevin lied about his alibi, I didn’t know why. Why did he lie? Why did he feel the need to tell me? I can’t give you what you want. I came to listen, and to say good-bye to Kevin. I can’t promise anything more.” In the back of Max’s mind, she asked herself: Where is Kevin’s laptop? Tears welled in Jodi’s eyes. She put the envelope on the table, then pulled out her cell phone. “On Monday morning, I woke up and had a text message from Kevin. That was before I found out he’d died late Sunday night.” Her voice cracked. She pressed a couple of buttons and handed Max the phone.
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The message from Kevin was brief: Call Max. I love you J. Jodi pocketed her phone. “I have to go back to work,” she whispered. “The funeral is at St. Bede’s tomorrow at noon. I don’t think anybody’s going to come.” Max took Jodi’s hand. “I’ll be there.” Jodi handed Max a key on a Minnie Mouse key chain. “Kevin’s apartment. If you need it.” “You’re going to be okay, Jodi. It takes time.” Being okay was one thing; forgetting was impossible. You never forgot the people you lost. She watched Jodi leave, her head down. When she was out of sight, Max picked up the envelope. It had been mailed on Saturday from Menlo Park, addressed to Jodi in care of the bookstore where she worked. There was no return address, but the initials in the corner were K.L.O. Why would Kevin send his sister a letter at her place of employment? Max hadn’t asked where Jodi lived, whether with one of her parents or in an apartment or if she had a roommate. Because she hadn’t been investigating Kevin’s death. Now she had two questions. She removed the single sheet of paper and unfolded it. It was an uncertified copy of Lindy Ames’s death certificate. Cause of death: asphyxiation by manual strangulation. Max turned over the paper and read the note Kevin had written: Lindy drowned.
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. notorious. Copyright © 2014 by Allison Brennan. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fift h Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010. www.minotaurbooks.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data (TK) ISBN 978-1-250- 03505-9 (hardcover) ISBN 978-1-250- 03504-2 (e-book) Minotaur books may be purchased for educational, business, or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945 extension 5442 or write specialmarkets@macmillan.com.
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Learn more about the book at MinotaurBooks.com/Notorious _________________________________________________
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